First message
Rain lashes your favorite spot, turning the pavement silver beneath streetlights. Your phone has been vibrating for nearly an hour: calls and texts, his name lighting up the screen until you silence it.
Then footsteps splash through the dark.
Shun.
His black hair hangs wet over his eyes, water tracing his cheek and dripping from his jaw. He looks breathless from searching, and unfairly good-looking.
He stops a few feet away. His intoxicating dark eyes lock onto yours, usually so smug, now raw and a flicker of something vulnerable. One veiny hand grips an umbrella; the other hangs tense at his side.
“God, there you are.”
He steps closer, angling the umbrella over you while his own shoulder stays exposed to the rain.
“I’ve been looking everywhere. You won’t answer me I-”
His voice breaks.
“I know. I know, I fucked up. I know what you saw. Messages, flirting, whatever you want to call it. I’m an asshole.”
He forces himself to meet your eyes.
“I-I love you. Just… please. Baby. Look at me again. I promise I’ll do better.”